See basically I have this vision of the future where everyone flies about with jetpacks strapped onto their backs and the political and social ramifications are immense - but right now I have other, more mundane, things to write about so the jetpacks will just have to wait.
My mother has decided that Kate and I need to do more stuff around the house. She said, "This house is not a hotel!" "What is it," I asked, "a Communist country?" "No! It is a dictatorship." Kate and I, of course, instantly decided to overthrow the regime and ran about shouting things like "The fridge has declared for me! Put that that cheese down!" and "Aha! The toilets are on my side! Where will you rest your dictatorial buttocks now?" End result is that a) Kate and I are now going to do more stuff around the house and b) Kate has started calling me Napoleon, which makes a nice change from Hitler, and declared that she would like to be Pol Pot (on the basis of the funny-sounding name, not the horrific atrocities). We are both fully aware that Pol Pot may be the name of a regime, and not a person, but thanks anyway. (Aside: When Kate and I were deciding which historical heads of state we would be, I asked Mum whether Napoleon, Hitler or Alexander the Great would suit me best. She squinted speculatively at me for about 20 seconds, then said, "I don't think you're a Hitler.")
Tomorrow I get to spend all day cooking! In the kitchen, where a woman belongs. We're having an Indian-themed dinner tomorrow night with my cousins, and I volunteered to do our half of the cooking, because I am both mad and easily excited. I've never cooked Indian before, and I'm a little nervous but also really looking forward to it. I'm going to attempt a thick coconut prawn curry, pork korma, pork vindaloo (we have quite a lot of pork in the freezer at the moment) and possibly some kind of dessert. So excited. Chop dice prep fry steam stir smell taste garnish! Fall asleep on couch.
In other news, I have a weird habit and am wondering if it's one that anyone else shares. I always try to carry as many different pens as possible with me, because I'm really picky about what kind of pen I write with, and my preference changes depending on what I'm writing. At the moment my handbag holds one black ink, one red ballpoint, and one blue ballpoint. Lists, for example, are in plain blue biro. Jokes, catchphrases, and appointments are in red biro. Black ink is for anything Literary - but then all three of those can swap round without notice, depending on the season, my mood, the length of Dr Phil's mustache (metric). It's just me, isn't it. (I need a green pen.)
I discovered the pen habit yesterday at the Library. I also discovered that apparently I love children, which was unexpected as I've always thought I hated the little grublets. I played 'peek-a-boo' with 5 children at the library! And with one midget by accident but let's not talk about that. Seriously, though, never visit the library on weekdays - there are children bloody everywhere I mean everywhere, and they come up to you while their mother is engrossed in Marie Claire and hide behind your legs, and then before you know it you're playing some weird game in which you are making a noise like a hippopotamus (or at least the noise you think a hippopotamus might conceivably make) and the child is going "Eeheehee!" and holding onto your thumb and then you steal the child and it is yours forever. Fuck.
I have decided to start adding tags to blog posts! I know, pretty exciting right. The only thing about this is that it means I have to revisit every one of the 179 posts currently taking up cyberspace on this blog - a concept that blows my mind, by the way. How much stuff can the Internet actually fit? Is it...limitless? Where is all this stuff kept? In Bill Gates' basement? In...in NOWHERE? Oh my God, how does this work? I have to stop thinking about this or my mind will shrink into a tiny, whimpering ball. Am just going back to talking about those 179 posts and how I have to go back and tag them as well, because to start tagging now and not go back and tag every single one of my previous posts would send me into a mental meltdown, like the one I just has (whoops, unintentional lolcat) when I tried to think about the internet.
In other news, I hate lolcats. I'm sorry, that is one meme which has passed me by. Show me one - just one - that is actually laugh-out-loud funny (or even clever I'd settle for clever) and I will completely revise my position; but for now they remain an abomination. Not unlike this rather pointless post. I mean, c'mon! It's not even about jetpacks.
Final point: moths rock. One fell in my wine, so I lifted it out & put it near my lamp to dry. Next time I looked over, it had fallen into my coffee (from the edge of the book-stack where I'd put it to dry its wings). So I pulled it out again. The little bastard is still alive, and has now dried his wings and flown away! Two thoughts. One: he is awesome and when he returns home he'll get a ghost author, write about his ordeal, sell the movie rights and become a millionaire. Two: he was suicidal and I've totally destroyed his plans but possibly restored his will to live. Either way, that moth rocks.